


Now That I Have Your Attention

by MissMegh



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Hux is Not Nice, Hux swears a lot, Kiss cam, Kylo is into that, M/M, Modern AU, he's kind of pissed, my apologies to sports fans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 13:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8287154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMegh/pseuds/MissMegh
Summary: Hux attends a baseball game. It goes about as well as you'd expect. At least somebody hates sports as much as he does.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caityjay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caityjay/gifts).



> I am very very sorry. It bunnied me. Assume there is some bullshit later. Happy Birthday.
> 
> This was entirely inspired by [this post](https://red-king-4.tumblr.com/post/151786784970/frozenmusings-booooost-sympathypaynes) on Tumblr.

Hux had so many regrets.

He hated dates and most things that involved public displays of friendliness. He hated large crowds of people, especially when they got loud. He hated sun and the heat and especially bloody July, when everyone in this country appeared to lose the collective plot over anything red, white and blue (those colors were on at least forty different nations’ flags, America, it wasn’t like that combination was _special,_ he could have just stayed home if he wanted to watch morons frothing at the mouth over a piece of cheap fabric). Most of all, he hated sports. Especially team sports. Especially _American_ team sports.

Yet here he was, at a baseball game.

He glanced over at his date, just to see if anything interesting was happening yet. Thanisson appeared to be entirely absorbed in the game, despite the fact that no one was moving in any appreciable direction on the field. Hux squinted at the players for a second--nope, they appeared to be holding some sort of circle-jerk on the mound in the middle--then appraised Thanisson again. Still blond, still elfin, still staring at the baseball field as if it contained the answers to the universe.

Hux pondered the most delicate way to let Mrs. Thanisson know that her son had gone completely native. Somehow _‘He’s obsessed with grown men playing with balls and sticks’_ didn’t seem like the way to go. Or, to be completely honest, very newsworthy at this point. Thanisson fucked like a mink when you could tear him away from the TV, which was probably why they were still dating. Hux was just getting very tired of pretending to humor this obsession.

The circle-jerk had ended, and Thanisson threw up his hands with a yell of disgust. Hux considered doing the same. He didn’t even watch cricket at home, which was a real game with actual rules. What the hell was he doing here?

He decided to make some sort of effort, since someone had to if either of them were getting any sex tonight. “What just happened?”

“He pulled Derlin halfway through the fucking inning,” Thanisson growled, gesturing at the field. One man appeared to be leaving the baseball hill in a complete strop while another jogged out to take his place. “It’s already the seventh, Rebo’s going to crack like cheap plastic if they put him out there now! _Get a brain, Madine!”_ This last was yelled out in the direction of the field, presumably at the man whose conversation had started the whole thing. Or maybe the one in the BDSM-looking mask-hat. Neither of them were conveniently labeled, so it was anyone’s guess.

Hux studied Thanisson a moment longer to determine whether all that had, in fact, been in English, then gave up. He had no hope nor desire of ever understanding this fucking game.

He settled back in his chair with a heavy gust of a sigh, tilting his head back in an effort to ease the ache steadily building at the base of his skull. The game had been going for--he checked his phone--over two hours already, surely it had to be over soon?

“There’s two and a half more innings.”

It took a second for Hux to realize that someone was addressing him. It wasn’t Thanisson, he was still fuming in the direction of the field and also didn’t sound like a bull moose somebody had taught to speak. Hux looked to his left.

“You didn’t have any messages, and whatever you saw seemed to piss you off,” the moose explained. He’d arranged himself much as Hux had, with long limbs draped over the hard plastic stadium seat and not much interest in looking at the field. “So I figured you were watching the time.”

“Brilliant deduction, Holmes,” Hux replied dryly, though he crossed his ankles and shifted a little to his left. The man was scruffy and American, which was several points against him, but he had big dark eyes and a remarkable prow of a nose, plus lips that you could lose body parts in. “Anything else to report?”

“The word’s ‘observe,’ Watson,” Scruffy American retorted, his unfair mouth quirked up in a smirk anyway. He nodded at Thanisson (now yelling at one of the players holding a bat), his black curls bobbing around his shoulders. “You’re not much of a baseball fan, especially when your date’s ignoring you to watch the game.”

“Date?” Hux allowed one eyebrow to lift, even as he found his own lips curving up a little. “Not ‘friend’ or ‘little brother,’ straight to ‘date’?” Thanisson didn’t even look over at the ‘little brother’ crack, blast him. He’d get so spitting mad every time he got carded at the bar, and resent Hux’s seven-year advantage, but now he turned conveniently deaf. Prick.

Scruffy American shrugged. “Maybe, but he’d be a shitty friend to drag you somewhere you clearly don’t want to be.” His smirk shifted into a slow grin, and Hux fought to keep his eyes from trailing down to that mouth. “And I’m pretty sure looking at your brother like that is illegal.”

“Like I want to strangle him in his sleep?”

“Not at first,” Scruffy American drawled. How long had he been watching Hux, anyway? “Your hand in his back pocket was a clue, too.”

“That’s starting to edge into stalker territory, you know,” Hux said, but his tone lacked both bite and disinterest. “Should I be worried?”

Another shrug, big hands laced in his lap. (Hell, his biceps looked like he was smuggling grapefruit under his skin.) “Not unless you invite me over.” Another grin, a little feral, and a flicker of a wink. “If you feed me I won’t leave.”

“Oh for god’s sake.” Hux laughed anyway. There was something wrong with him. He was clearly suffering from hunger, or heatstroke, or some form of sex starvation, because this overgrown American was flirting ridiculously with him while Hux was on a date with someone else, and Hux had no desire to shut him down. “Is that what you’re doing here? Some vendor gave you a free hot dog and now you wander the stadium in hopes of following someone home?”

Even more unfairly, Scruffy American’s laugh was as thick and wicked as the rest of him. “Nah. I just have shitty friends.” He tilted his chin toward three people on the other side of him, two men and a woman. All three were deep in discussion with each other, presumably about what was happening on the field given the gestures Hux could manage to decipher. “They had an extra ticket and my cousin begged me so it wouldn’t go to waste.”

“How noble of you.” Hux scrutinized the man closest to Scruffy American--even more stubble, bomber jacket--and decided that the story was plausible. “Well, you already guessed mine. Never got into the game: didn’t grow up with it, don’t know a damn thing about it, other than it’s too bloody long.”

That got a chuckle and an emphatic nod. “You absorb some, when you grow up with it, but I never did get into team sports. I don’t play well with others.”

“Nor I.” Hux let himself have a quick up-and-down look. “Have to be persuaded.” Oh hell, now he was doing it too. There was something wrong with him.

Scruffy American’s dimples were visible through the scruff. Help.

Someone did something calamitous on the field, and the whole stadium cheered. Hux looked down at the play in confusion, then at Thanisson. He was yelling like an idiot with the rest of the hooligans. Hux grimaced, but glanced around hopefully when a lot of people around him seemed ready to get up.

“Seventh inning stretch,” Scruffy American explained, picking up on Hux’s confusion. “To keep the people who got dragged here against their will from strangling their shitty friends.” He appeared to be taking the term literally, putting his hands at the small of his back and arching in his seat. It made his chest look twice the width of Hux. Hux determinedly did _not_ bite his lip and looked around for literally anything else to watch.

It took him a moment to realize that there was something on the Jumbotron, and another to recognize it. By that time people were pointing and grinning. Hux stared at his face bordered by lipstick-dotted frame and cheesy KISS CAM script in appalled fascination.

He had _so many regrets._

Well, he certainly wasn’t bowing to this absurd American humiliation. Not a chance. Hux looked over at Thanisson, ready to share a sneer or a laugh at the inanity of--

Thanisson wasn’t paying attention at all. He was looking at his goddamn phone.

Hux stared at Thanisson just to confirm that, yes, even without something actually happening on his precious baseball field he was _completely ignoring_ Hux. Took a breath. Let it out.

Then turned right around in his seat, grabbed Scruffy American by the face, and kissed the hell out of him.

There were whoops and applause around them, but Hux wasn’t listening; all he could manage was blistering pleasure and a bit of smugness that those lips were even softer than he’d imagined. Then there were enormous hands in his hair, and the angle shifted, and _oh yes_ Hux opened his mouth with a deliciously startled purr because god the man knew how to _kiss._

He could feel how flushed he was when they pulled apart, couldn’t help licking his lips to get another taste. Scruffy American was watching him with pupils blown wide, his mouth even redder with kissing, and it took an unholy amount of will to keep Hux from leaning forward for more.

He turned around instead, ready to knock the damned phone out of Thanisson’s hands if he’d missed even that. He'd seen, though, his body stiff with outrage and his jaw clenched in a snarl. Hux smirked at him, then pushed out of his chair with a languid stretch.

“I’m leaving,” he said. “Don’t bother coming around again.” He turned back to Scruffy American, lifting an eyebrow. “Coming?”

“Fuck yes.” He stood like he’d strapped a rocket to his arse. They sidled past his three terrible friends/cousins (?) without explanation, although none of them seemed to feel the need to ask for one. Hux rather thought the way he’d laced their fingers together spoke enough about the situation.

“You’re not nice.” Scruffy American sounded halfway reverent.

“I fail to see the problem.”

“Jesus. Do you actually have a name, or should I just keep calling you Hot Ginger?” Scruffy American didn’t abandon his shit-eating grin in the least when Hux rolled his eyes.

“It’s Hux. You?”

“Kylo.”

“Of course it is.” Kylo was taking the stadium stairs two at a time with his ridiculous legs. So was Hux. Neither of them could seem to stop grinning. “Am I going to regret feeding you, Kylo?”

Kylo laughed as they headed for the exit, bringing Hux’s hand up to bite lightly at his knuckles. “Only one way to find out.”


End file.
